


Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline)

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin Ryan's the newest recruit at the FDNY's 12th battalion, and everyone in his unit is welcoming and friendly—except, of course, the smoking hot Javier Esposito. But as the saying goes, where there's smoke, there's fire—and Kevin's about to feel the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 4 of the ryanandesposito ficathon.

"Ryan." Montgomery's voice stops him—ten minutes on the job and already his Captain's voice can stop him in his tracks, make him turn around guiltily like he's been caught doing something wrong. "There's just one more thing before I introduce you to the unit. And listen up, because it's important."

Kevin drops back down into his chair. "Yeah, shoot."

"The unit you're joining is one of the best in the city, but they're hurting. A couple weeks ago they lost one of their men while they were responding to a house fire."

Kevin winces. "And I'm replacing him." His eyes slide over the wood paneling of the office walls, Montgomery's awards and degrees mixed in among pictures of his family—and of his battalion. There's four people other than Montgomery posed in front of the number twelve engine: three guys and one girl, all grinning, and Kevin wonders which one of them had to die for him to be sitting here today.

Montgomery nods. "You got it. The only reason I hired someone so soon is it's just too dangerous for them to be running with only three people. That's a crippled unit. So keep in mind: it might be hard at first, but they're good people and I promise you, they _will_ come around. Just be patient."

"Understood, Captain," Kevin answers solemnly. Great. As if the stress of starting a new job wasn't enough—now he's going to be measured against the dead, and almost certainly found wanting.

That's the first thing to go wrong.

*

There hadn't been anyone in the station when Kevin had arrived for his first-day-on-the-job chat with Montgomery, but about halfway through he'd heard voices, three people arguing playfully as they slammed lockers and scraped chairs against the floor and someone's ringtone sounding.

At the table by the window two people are sitting, a guy and a girl. Montgomery claps his hands, and they both glance up from the oversized book they have spread between them. "Listen up, you two. This here is Kevin Ryan, he's the newest member of the team."

"Sir, I thought—" A pretty brunette cuts herself off, apparently thinking better of what she was about to say. She glances toward a door on the far side of the room for a brief moment, then turns back to Kevin. Her smile is part automatic reflex, part genuine sentiment, and Kevin thinks he's probably going to like her. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan," she says. "I'm Kate Beckett."

"And I'm Rick Castle," the man next to her interjects, giving a little wave. He grins, and it's friendly and open. "You can call me Rick. Or Castle. I really don't care either way."

Kevin smiles. "It's nice to meet you, Beckett, Castle—" he nods at each of them in turn.

"Where's Esposito?" Montgomery asks.

"Hallway," is Castle's prompt response. "Phone call."

"Sir, I—" Beckett stops herself again, pressing her lips together in a tight line. Though she doesn't say anything, Kevin watches her and Montgomery have a short conversation with their eyes until Castle catches his attention by clapping his hands together once.

"So how long have you been a firefighter, Ryan?" Castle asks, voice just a shade too loud, obviously trying to distract him. And possibly dig into his life a little bit; Castle strikes Kevin as that kind of guy.

"No, I—just promoted," he finishes, smiling politely. Cautious. They've been nice enough so far, but for all he knows they're just lulling him into a false sense of security; fattening him up before they ritually sacrifice him.

"EMT or paramedic?"

"EMT."

Castle nods. "I'm pretty new myself. To this unit, anyway. Transferred in—" The door opens and he falls silent, looking behind Kevin at whoever just came in.

Kevin turns to follow his line of sight, and his mouth goes dry because jesus christ if the hottest guy he's ever seen didn't just stroll through that door: broad shoulders, flawless golden-dark skin and his black t-shirt stretched tight over what looks like miles of muscle.

"Yo Cap," the guy says, nodding toward Kevin. "Who's your friend?"

"Esposito," Montgomery says, putting a hand on Kevin's shoulder, "this is Kevin Ryan, the newest member of the unit."

That's the second thing to go wrong.

*

Beckett drops into the chair next to Kevin, interrupting his (not brooding) thoughts. "Hey, ah, Ryan. Esposito... he's... well, don't take it personally, okay?" Beckett puts her hand over Kevin's, warm and kind. "He'll warm up. You'll see."

"You sure?" Kevin asks, distracted. "He's not going to, like, murder me in my sleep or something? Because that's the vibe I'm getting off him right now."

Beckett laughs a little, like Kevin's said something genuinely funny. He doesn't see what's so damn amusing about homicide; it's serious business. He's probably going to sleep with his gun (for which he has a permit, thank you very much) tonight. "I can personally assure you he won't pour poison in your ear if you take a nap at the station."

"Yeah," Castle chimes in from behind Beckett. "Ear poison? Totally not his style. Too literary. He'd probably just stab you." He frowns a little, thinking. "Or maybe strangle you? I'll bet he's strong enough for that. I mean, have you seen his arms? No homo or anything, but—"

"Castle," Beckett snaps, turning her chair around to glare at him. "Not helping."

*

They're about three-quarters of the way through a fifteen hour shift when the call comes in—fire in a residential building downtown. Esposito's napping, Castle and Beckett are arguing, and Kevin _just_ got to the good part of the Nathan Fillion whodunit he's been reading.

Within three seconds of the alarm sounding, they're all on their feet and going—rummaging through lockers, scrambling for gear—then it's down and out and into the engine almost before Kevin has the chance to feel a tiny ball of nerves knot and then settle in his stomach. Almost.

Because, yeah, he did train for this, and he has been to fires before—but training is not the same as experience and EMT response at a fire is far, far different from firefighter response. From now until the fire is out, the four of them are putting their lives into each other's hands, and Kevin is terrified of that. Of letting them down the way they think they let Thornton down. A quick glance at their faces, grim and determined, tells Kevin he's not the only one who feels that way, and that actually eases the knot of worry a bit.

Inside the engine, Beckett puts on a headset and begins plotting almost immediately. "Alright, Dispatch said the fire is mostly on the top two floors, where it started, but it's spreading downward. It'll probably be on the third to the top by the time we get there. Evacuation was successful, the landlord's pretty sure everyone's out, based on the time of day. But, as always, we _cannot_ take that for granted. Espo, you've got point on this one."

Esposito nods but doesn't say anything, and Beckett pauses, looking him in the eye. "You got this?" she asks, somehow sounding no-nonsense and concerned at the same time.

Esposito hesitates for the briefest of seconds, then nods again. "I got this."

"Good." Beckett appears to be satisfied. "Take Ryan with you."

Esposito looks surprised but doesn't argue, and Kevin tries not to hyperventilate.

"Ryan." Beckett's voice cuts through his thoughts. "You good, rookie?"

He forces a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Won't let you down."

Beckett holds his gaze for a moment longer, then lets go.

*

The third thing to go wrong? It is the _worst_ thing.

The ride back to the station is strained at best. Ryan keeps his mouth shut the entire time, trying to curl into a grimy, exhausted ball in the corner of the engine; every so often he sneaks little glances at Esposito, who's staring straight ahead with pretty admirable determination, speaking to no-one and completely ignoring Castle, who spends a few minutes on the phone with his daughter Alexis and another few minutes talking animatedly to no-one in particular about his daughter Alexis. Add in Beckett politely pretending to listen to Castle while sneaking worried glances at Esposito _and_ Ryan, and you've got the perfect recipe for the longest five minutes of Kevin's life.

Back at the station Castle calls first dibs on one of the two showers and Beckett quickly claims the second, and from the awkward tone in her voice when she does it, it's because she's meddling without actually meddling: she thinks Ryan and Esposito need to talk.

Which, you know. They do. But Kevin doesn't want to and he's pretty sure Esposito would rather shoot himself in his very handsome face than have this conversation right now, judging by the complete and total animosity rolling off him in waves of body language. Like, for example, the way he's pacing back and forth across the station common room, pointedly not looking at Kevin and occasionally clenching his fists. That sort of thing.

Still, Kevin is one of New York's best and bravest, and he can do this. "Listen, Esposito—" he begins, but Esposito cuts him off with a gesture.

"Leave it, man."

"But I—"

"Ryan," Esposito snaps. "I don't want to hear it." He hasn't stopped pacing, like that's the end of the conversation, and it pisses Kevin off.

"All I want is to say thank you!" he half-shouts.

Esposito stops dead, back facing him, and Kevin can hear him mutter something like, _oh, for Christ's—_ before he spins around. "Thank you? For what?" Esposito challenges, taking a step into Kevin's personal space that Kevin resolutely does not back away from. "For pushing you out of the way? For not letting you die in there? For looking after you when you're too stupid to do it yourself?" And, oh, if Kevin thought Esposito's glare was bad in the engine, it's nothing compared to the manic intent in it now.

Kevin just stands there, pinned under the weight of Esposito's gaze, utterly unsure of what he could possibly say in response; there's really nothing in the world he _can_ say. Long seconds tick by in pin-drop silence before apropos of nothing something changes—the fury leaves Esposito's face, and when he speaks again all he sounds is tired. "Just forget it, man," he says, turning away. "That's what partners do." He's out the door, slamming it behind him, before Kevin can think of what to say to that. He stares, and tries to get his thoughts in order.

"I think you scared him," Castle says, voice unusually serious, and Kevin jumps a mile out of his skin because he did not notice Castle coming in. "And, um. Shower's all yours."

"Shit, Castle, warn a guy," Kevin says, pressing the heel of his hand over his heart. Catching his breath takes a couple of seconds. "You, uh... you hear all of that?"

Castle shrugs. He's naked from the waist up, just a towel wrapped around his hips, and Kevin wonders for a second why he couldn't have fallen for Castle instead. "Heard enough. What happened in there that got him so mad?"

"He, ah—" Kevin winces, remembering. "You know how he said he pushed me out of the way?"

"Yeah. Falling beam?" Castle guesses.

"Uh-huh."

"Jesus," is Castle's response, and he looks away. "No wonder he's so pissed."

"He saved my life, though," Kevin interrupts. "I almost died because I wasn't alert enough in there. You'd think it'd be so easy to pay attention to what's going on around you when everything is on fire, but—" he laughs bitterly. "Stupid, rookie mistake."

Castle considers this for a minute before: "Ryan, listen to me," he says, voice firm. "You are a stupid rookie. You will make stupid, rookie mistakes that will make us want to punch you in your stupid, rookie face. But at the end of the day we will still have your back, because once upon a time we were stupid rookies too."

Kevin is genuinely taken aback by the seriousness of Castle's statement, the depth of his concern. "Castle, that was... incredibly decent of you," he remarks.

"I'm a nice guy, who knew?" He goes all shifty-eyed. "Just don't tell Beckett. She won't love me anymore if she realizes I'm not the happy-go-lucky bad boy she thinks I am."

"Don't worry, Castle," Beckett says, patting him on the shoulder as she breezes into the room squeaky-clean and dressed in civvies, "I can't stop loving you if I never started."

"She doesn't mean that," Castle tells Kevin. "Right, Beckett? Beckett?" Beckett's answer is a cool smile, not breaking her stride in the slightest, and Castle hurries after her. "You didn't mean that, right?"

*

It's all-in and Ryan's floundering. He should have known better than to acquiesce when Castle suggested poker, but everyone else was down for it and he really hadn't wanted to ruin the camaraderie by pussying out. It wasn't like they were playing for money, anyway.

And thank God for that, too, because Kevin's lost every single hand so far. Castle and Esposito are finding it all hilarious.

"I fold," Kevin says, throwing down his cards.

Castle laughs. "Hey, good thing this isn't strip poker," he says. "You'd have gambled your modesty away before you could blink."

Kevin grumbles, but can't exactly protest because it's true. "Man, whatever. You just wish you could get a look at what's under this gear."

Castle looks far, far more contemplative than Kevin cares to think about. "Hey, why aren't we playing strip poker? I mean, why play for bragging rights if we can play for clothing? Way more fun. Like my mom always says about strip poker—even when you lose, you win."

"Because, Castle," Beckett answers, "I really do not need to see any of you naked, and considering I'm kicking all of your asses, that's all that would happen. "

Esposito laughs. "Man, I'm not that far behind you, Beckett."

Beckett glances over at him, grinning behind her cards. "Yeah, but don't you go commando?" Kevin chokes on the water he's drinking. "That means I've got on two more pieces of clothing—I've totally got the upper hand."

Esposito shrugs like it's no big thing Beckett just told the entire battalion that he's naked under his pants. "It's a seasonal thing. And I think we've all got the upper hand as long as Irish here keeps up his terrible poker face." 

Kevin rolls his eyes. "So poker's not my game. Sue me. I could kick any of your asses as video games, but we don't have a console."

"You kidding, dude? We got a tv. Bring your machine in next shift, I will personally make you eat your words."

Kevin blinks, because that might be the most Esposito's said directly to him since after that first fire. "Yeah," he says, scrambling for a response. "Yeah, okay. But I will own you, man."

"That's some big talk from such a little guy," Esposito shoots back. "Better hope you can back it all up."

"All that and more," Kevin replies, grinning openly. "All that and more, my friend."

"Guys," Beckett interrupts, sounding amused. "Can you just whip it out and measure already? We've got poker to play."

Esposito glances over at Kevin and straight-up _checks him out_ , dragging his gaze over every inch of Kevin's body. He shrugs, lazy smile spreading across his face. "I'm game."

Kevin laughs nervously, because he's not sure what just happened or what he's supposed to do. "No, uh, that's okay. Let's just play."

"Scared?" Castle taunts, and Kevin wishes a thousand painful deaths upon him.

"Guys, come on," Beckett groans. "Poker. Can we just finish this hand and declare me queen of the station already? After that you can talk about your dicks until they shrivel up and fall off for all I care."

*

Castle puts three glasses of beer on the table. "As promised, first round on me." He slides in the booth next to Beckett, across from Ryan. "Hey, Kev, what did you do to scare Esposito off?—Ow! Beckett kicked me."

"I don't know what I did," Ryan answers, hoping he doesn't sound as petulant as he feels. "He said he had something important to do tonight."

"More important than _us_?" Castle asks, then shoots Beckett a dirty look. "Seriously, stop kicking me. Your shoes are ridiculous; how do you even run in those?"

Beckett gives him a look. "There _are_ more important things in Espo's life than his coworkers." At Castle's blank look, she rolls her eyes and mouths _Carole_.

Apparently it's significant to those in the know, and apparently Castle's in the know, because his whole face illuminates with understanding. Not that Ryan would know: he's not in the know. He glances between Castle and Beckett, hoping for some kind of insight, but they aren't even paying attention to him.

"O... kay," Ryan says slowly. It's not the first time he's felt left outside, like the newcomer he is; hell, it's not even the first time it's hurt his feelings. But it's different somehow, because this isn't just a passing reference to someone he doesn't know or an inside joke he wasn't around for—this is them deliberately keeping something from him, and it stings. 

They're supposed to be a team.

*

Esposito's ex-military (nobody's mentioned how, when or why he was discharged, and Kevin hasn't asked because he has a feeling they won't tell him anyway) so when he's packing up his console to bring to the station he purposefully leaves behind all the first-person shooters set in anything even resembling a war zone. That doesn't leave much: Madden, Tony Hawk, and a couple other games. It also leaves Animal Crossing, but that one Kevin keeps at home because he's fairly (completely, 100% absolutely) certain bringing it will result in nothing but teasing for the rest of his natural life. Let's face it, he's taking enough of a risk bringing Little Big Planet; better not to tempt fate if at all possible.

Of course, Javier brings in Left 4 Dead 2, Fallout 3, Call of Duty 4 and Halo Reach. He also gives Kevin truly unbelievable amounts of shit for Little Big Planet, but whatever, Kevin stands by his convictions. He just taunts Esposito for his apparent unhealthy obsession with video game sequels and is careful never to mention the way they play Madden 95% of the time.

*

Kevin's _just_ about to kick Esposito's ass—no, really, he is—when the most poorly-timed warehouse fire in the history of New York City has the station bell going off shrill and piercing in their ears, inciting some kind of Pavlovian reaction that has them jumping up and heading for their lockers without even taking a half-second to pause the game.

And he takes a chance, a tiny gesture that really shouldn't incite _this_ level of stomach-butterfly nerves. "When this is over I demand a rematch," he yells over the noise of the engine, and Esposito nods like he's making a solemn promise.

It shouldn't make a difference, but when they head into that burning building together, Kevin feels like they're finally, truly partners.

*

They'd found one of the warehouse employees unconscious in the middle of the blaze and by the time they'd managed to get him outside he was barely breathing. Lanie Parish, Kevin's absolute favorite of all the EMTs in New York City, had brought him to the hospital in her excellent care, but there's only so much that can be done for severe smoke inhalation, especially in an asthmatic patient, and it wasn't looking good. By the time the fire's totally extinguished they all need the drink or two Castle suggests on the ride back.

Firefighters drink for half-off at the Old Haunt, and one or two drinks quickly turns into three or four turns into five or six and by the time Esposito remembers with a start that they have a video game rematch, Kevin couldn't say if his life depended on it how many shots he's done. But he's sure as hell sober enough to beat Esposito's ass into the ground, so they bid Castle and Beckett good night and half-stumble their way three blocks and then up four flights of stairs to Esposito's apartment.

He's two steps into the entryway when Esposito knocks the wind out of Kevin by slamming him up against the wall. For a split second he thinks Esposito's mad at him—his eyes narrow in the same way they had when Montgomery introduced them—but the press of Esposito's hips is unmistakable in its intent, and the world spins on its axis as Kevin tries to process this completely new and unexpected piece of information.

Tiny little robot warning bells go off in his head. _Danger, Kevin Ryan, danger!_ "Are you really playing Gay Chicken with a gay guy?" he asks, and he's surprised by how hoarse his voice already sounds.

Esposito looks a complete lack of surprised by Kevin's announcement as he leans in closer and closer, until all Kevin can see is the dark of his pupils inside a thin ring of brown iris. "Am I winning?"

Kevin's, "No," is lost on a kiss that tastes like whiskey and it's not good or noble or right, but Kevin _wants_ and has wanted and will always want, and it's so easy to just let it happen. More than that, it takes no effort at all to put a hand on Javier's shoulder and twist them around so Javier's pinned against the wall and never break the kiss for a single second. It's so easy, bordering on perfectly natural, to swallow Javier's moans as they breathe in each other's air, neither of them willing to break apart for even a half-second gasp for oxygen.

They don't need to talk to know exactly where this is going, and together they half-maneuver, half-stumble across the apartment toward Javier's bedroom, and, more specifically, Javier's bed. Kevin shoves him down on top of the covers, letting months of pent-up desire manifest as pure aggression, and he'd have to blind to miss the way Javier's eyes flash dark. Kevin had never really pegged him for being into that kind of thing, but it seems lately that Javier's full of surprises.

And apparently he likes to give as good as he gets, because a split-second later he's yanking Kevin down on top of him, manhandling him until their bodies align and then rolling to press Kevin's shoulders into the mattress and a thigh between his legs.

"Kev, I—"

"Shut up," he bites out, voice closer to begging than he'd like, but the desperation running through him craves silence like a physical need; his entire body on edge as he waits, seconds passing like hours as he dreads Javier saying something to ruin the illusion.

But, thank god, Javier seems to get it and he doesn't speak, eyes tracking Kevin's like a heat-seeking missile as he sits back on his knees and tugs his shirt over his head. It's not the first time Kevin's seen him shirtless, and while he treasures each of those memories in a truly pathetic corner of his mind, the way the near-dark of Javier's room throws light and shadows over his torso is captivating in a way it's never been before. Kevin doesn't know where his own clothes land as he yanks them off and he doesn't care, can't get rid of them fast enough, lay Javier out beneath him fast enough.

Javier's nothing but an expanse of smooth, dark skin in front of him and Kevin can't do anything but run his hands all over the hard planes of Javier's body, touch him everywhere because this is the only chance he'll ever have, and he needs to remember everything. His fingers and lips and tongue map every inch of Javier's skin, stopping only to lavish attention anytime Javier lets out a little aborted groan, like he's taking Kevin's order for silence seriously but can't quite help himself, and holy fuck, that should not be anywhere near as hot as it is.

In the total silence of the room everything rings louder, labored breaths and the sheets rustling with every little movement; the noise of the city at 2am filters in through the cracked-open window on a light breeze that makes Kevin realize just how heated his skin is.

He follows the cut of Javier's hip flexor down to where it disappears into his boxer briefs, tugging them down as he goes. Javier tilts his hips us to make it easier and the elastic of the waistband catches on his cock, making it bob obscenely. Kevin dives after it like he's been idly daydreaming about since the day they met and Javier's breathless laugh turns into a choked-off moan. His hands come up to grip Kevin's shoulders hard enough to dig in bruises; all it does is encourage Kevin to take in more.

It's almost a disappointment when Javier's grip shifts and he pulls Kevin up, slotting their bodies together as he reaches blindly toward the nightstand and fumbles for something in the drawer. Kevin's stomach bottoms out in nervous anticipation, because there's only a couple of things that guys keep in their nightstand drawers—lube, condoms, and sex toys—and any combination of the above is something he (and his dick) can totally, 100% get behind.

After what feels like forever Javier produces a bottle of lube and nothing else, and Kevin opens his mouth to ask a question that Javier anticipates, and answers, with a shake of his head. A two-finger gesture beckons Kevin to shuffle forward on his knees until he's straddling Javier's torso, totally unsure of what's about to happen but positive he's going to enjoy it anyway. 

Javier trails a cool, thin line of lube down the length of Kevin's blood-stiff dick, smearing it in with loose pumps of his fist and while Kevin's pretty sure he's not about to get a hand job he can't help but feel like he'd be totally okay with that if that's what Javier wanted, anything as long as he keeps up that maddening, not-quite-enough friction. But Javier must have some kind of sadistic ESP because he slows and then stops, pushing Kevin off him gently.

A sharp line of disappointment races down his spine as Javier shifts away from him, until Kevin realizes what he's doing is rolling up onto his hands and knees. Javier looks over his shoulder at Kevin, who's frozen in place staring, and grins like he knows some fantastic secret.

"Come on," he urges, and Kevin really doesn't need to be told twice. He lines their bodies up, Javier's legs a warm pressure down his thighs and sucks in a deep breath as Javier reaches around to grab his dick and guides it into position. The head of his cock slips up against the crease of Javier's ass, and for one terrifying, heart-stopping second he thinks Javier's asking for bareback, until Javier pushes his dick a little lower, letting it slip between his thighs right before he clenches them together.

Kevin bites back a groan as Javier rocks backward. His slicked-up dick slides through a thin layer of sweat and he's still fighting the pull of Javier's body, the hard grip of muscle all around him. On instinct (because he's a fucking gentleman, thank you very much) his hand comes up to give Javier a reach-around that mimics what Javier's doing to him: when Javier clenches his thighs, Kevin tightens his own grip; when Javier loosens up, so does Kevin; he's handing all the control over to Javier because he doesn't know how to cope with it, and Javier just takes it back like he was expecting Kevin to do it all along.

*

Kevin wakes the next morning perfectly cognizant of where he is—for example, the left side of Javier fucking Esposito's bed—and feeling like something died in the back of his throat. His eyelids are sticking together, protesting against his attempt to open them, and he figures maybe that's the universe's way of telling him to go back to sleep until everything he doesn't want to face just goes away.

But he's smart enough to know that it's not going to, and if he's going to deal with this, he's going to need some coffee first. The good, responsible EMT inside of him is telling him: _water instead, dumbass, rehydrate yourself_ and the cowardly part of him is telling him: _hair of the dog that bit you; and if that doesn't work at least you won't be sober for this conversation_ , and maybe coffee isn't going to help in the long run but it'll go a long way toward helping him feel more human for the inevitable confrontation and he figures that's worth something, at least.

His clothes are all in a pile on the dresser, not folded but also not scattered across the floor like they'd been last night, and for the life of him he can't figure why that feels so significant.

Javier's already in the kitchen when he manages to stumble his way in, and he glances up from the island where he's measuring out coffee grounds. His eyes flick over Kevin's sleep-mussed form efficiently, and he adds another spoonful of coffee to the filter.

"Morning," he greets, too busy with the coffee machine to make eye contact. Well. It's not like he's deliberately avoiding Kevin, just that he's not making the extra effort. Or something. Kevin figures they can ignore last night for about five minutes more until the awkwardness in the room reaches an unbearable level, and by then the coffee should be done.

Thank God for small favors.

"Did—"

"Hey, man, it happened. No use getting all bent out of shape about it," Javier interrupts, and Kevin shuts his mouth abruptly.

He was just going to ask if Javier had made coffee for him too, but, you know. That worked too. "Right. I wasn't."

"I wasn't either," Javier answers, just a little too quickly. His smile is tight, a little forced. "So we're fine?"

"Yeah," Kevin answers, bemused. Something's off in this conversation, and he just can't put his finger on it. "It's—uh—fine. We're fine. It's all fine."

"Good." Javier nods, and Kevin wants nothing more than to _get out_ of there, back to the real world where he can breathe.

"I just—" He gestures vaguely toward the door but can't tear his eyes from Javier's face. "I've got a... thing. So I'm gonna go."

Javier's eyes widen just a fraction. "Right, yeah. Of course." His gaze flicks to the coffee pot, brewing merrily away, completely oblivious to the suffocating tension in the room, for just a fraction of a second before settling back on Kevin.

"So, um." Kevin shifts his weight from one foot to another, thinks about how he can smell vodka on the front of his shirt, and wonders how bright the sun's going to be outside. "I'll see you at the station," he finishes, and flees.

*

That should be the end of it, except it happens again.

And again.

And again.

It's like that night broke something in Esposito, like he suddenly wants to be friends with the squad again. He starts talking more at the station, even comes along for after-work beers more often. He never mentions that night, but he doesn't seem even the slightest bit awkward about it the way Kevin is.

Kevin is neither an idiot nor a masochist; he knows he should put an end to whatever it is that's going on between them (whatever it even _is_ , he doesn't know but he's pretty sure it's not what he wants) and, really, he tries. But when Esposito kisses him, when he shows up on Kevin's doorstep with a six-pack and apologetic grin, when he winks at him from across the bar and gestures with his head toward the door... Kevin doesn't know how to deny him anything. 

It's a struggle, even, to keep from offering him everything.

*

Kevin hadn't realized that you could pine for someone even when you were sleeping with them on a regular basis. He's pretty sure he's taken this crush to a whole new level of pathetic, and barely even puts up a fight when Jenny laughs in his face and calls him a girl.

"So let me get this straight..."

"So to speak," Kevin puts in, and Jenny rolls her eyes.

"What did I tell you about puns? They are the lowest form of humor, Kevin. _The lowest_."

"But—"

"Forget it," Jenny interrupts, dismissing his words with a regal wave of her hand. "We're trying to discuss the way you have spontaneously turned into a girl, and you are distracting me."

"I'm sorry, princess Jenny."

She nods, satisfied. "That's better. Now, if I understand correctly, the facts are as follows: you're screwing a really hot firefighter on a regular basis, he's gone from hating you to being your best friend, and somehow you're _still_ acting like a seventh grade girl whose crush ignored the sparkly pink valentine she slipped in his locker."

Kevin cringes. "Would we really put it like that?"

Jenny looks him up and down. "Yes," she decides. "We absolutely would."

"Well thank god I have you around to protect my ego from hard truths."

"Friends don't let friends act like gigantic pussies." Abruptly she narrows her eyes at him. "You didn't actually put a sparkly pink valentine in his locker, did you?"

" _Jenny_."

"I'm just checking!" she protests, like he's the one being unreasonable here. "Gotta cover all the bases here, and I really would not be surprised if you had." She scrutinizes him for a minute, and he has no clue what on god's green earth she's trying to figure out. "Maybe you should."

Should what? "Excuse me?"

"Put a valentine in his locker. Metaphorically, I mean. Although a literal valentine would get your point across pretty effectively, I would imagine. But if you do that you run the risk of him realizing what a chick you are and running screaming in the opposite direction." She genuinely sounds like she's considering this as a viable avenue of action, and it terrifies Kevin to the depths of his soul.

"Maybe he likes chicks," he grumbles, for lack of anything better to say.

"I'm sorry, weren't you just telling me about how he crams your dick down his throat every opportunity he gets? Something tells me he's more into dudes. Come on, Kevin, man up or bitch out."

"I think I'm gonna bitch out, if you're giving me a choice here."

She laughs. "Oh, honey, I'm really not."

*

Esposito's sacked out on the bunk nearest to the window, and when Kevin shimmies past on his way to his locker, Esposito snakes an arm out to grab him by his wrist. Kevin barely has the time to look down, surprised, before Esposito yanks him down onto the bed beside him.

"Javi, what—" Kevin begins, but Javier just pulls him closer to his body, clearly indicating that Kevin should lay down beside him. To his credit, he does so, and Javier sighs and shifts his body until they slot together.

The bed's fucking tiny, for all intents and purposes no bigger than a stretcher, and the idea of two grown men sharing the space is completely laughable. Kevin twists his head around to look at Javier: his eyes are shut, breathing slow and even, and while he's probably not completely asleep he's clearly not fully awake either.

For a minute he contemplates his avenues of escape—what would extricate him from Javier's grasp without waking him? But the sun is streaming in through the window warm and soft, covering them both like a blanket; they fit together more perfectly than Kevin could have anticipated and Javier smells so good: clean and spicy; and it's just too easy to close his eyes and relax into the hard lines of Javier's body. Warning bells are going off in the back of his mind but he ignores them as he matches his breathing to Javier's and lets himself be lulled to sleep.

*

When Kevin comes in the next morning, there's a _Hello, my name is_ sticker over his locker's nameplate. Instead of reading _Kevin Ryan_ , it now says _Little Spoon_ , with several hot pink hearts drawn in the white space around the words. A glance over at Esposito's locker shows a sticker that says _Big Spoon_ on it, with accompanying obscene stick figures, and Kevin cheerfully resolves to murder Castle in his sleep. Maybe pour some poison in his ear for maximum literary effect. He likes to think Castle would appreciate the gesture; or would if he wouldn't be dead.

He's five minutes into musing over what he would say in his eulogy at Castle's ear-poison funeral— _Richard Castle was ruggedly handsome, a devoted father and loving son. It's a damn shame he was also a jerk who got his kicks making fun of his friends in their time of suffering_ —when the trill of the station phone startles him so much he nearly falls out of his chair.

Castle, of course, is laughing too hard to pick up the phone, so it falls to Beckett.

"Espo's running late," Beckett calls when she hangs up. "Someone found a body on the subway tracks and everything's been rerouted." And while it's not the kind of thing that happens every day it isn't exactly a huge surprise either—they _are_ jaded New Yorkers, after all—so that's the end of that.

Until Kevin realizes, about ten minutes later, the fucking perfect opportunity he's wasting. "Beckett," he asks, "who's Carole?"

Beckett whips her head around from where she's searching through her locker. "Who told you about Carole?" and while it's exactly the kind of response he'd been expecting, he's still annoyed by it. Next she's going to say, ‘you should really ask Esposito about that' and that's just _not_ happening.

"Nobody. That's kind of the point. I hear you all mention her and then change the subject, and I just want to know who she is. Is she Espo's girlfriend?" It's a thought he's entertained more than once over the past couple weeks, one he pushes away every time it comes into his mind because he doesn't know what he'd do if it was true.

"What?" Beckett asks, eyes wide with disbelief as Castle bursts out laughing around his fist. Laughing _with_ him, not _at_ him, Kevin tells himself, but this isn't fucking funny.

"Girlfriend? Oh..." Castle wheezes, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. "That's a good one. I thought _you_ were Esposito's girlfriend."

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Castle." She glances over at Ryan, unaccountably nervous. "No, Carole's, ah—"

"She's Ike Thornton's wife," Esposito finishes from somewhere behind them, and they all turn. He shrugs and drops his bag on one of the tables. "Widow. I go see her once or twice a week, help out around the house. The past couple months haven't been easy on her. She's got a kid; it's the least I can do."

Oh. _Oh._ Out of the corner of his eye he can see Beckett and Castle edging out of the room, Beckett muttering something about _and that's our cue to leave_ , but the notice he pays them is completely negligible compared to the way he's staring Javier down. He doesn't think he could tear his eyes away if he wants to, and Javier shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

Kevin realizes he should probably say something right about now. "I thought—"

"Yeah," Javier finishes. "Yeah, and believe me, if I'd realized you were really stupid enough to believe that I'd've explained earlier, bro."

"Hey," Kevin protests, but he doesn't really know where he's going with it.

"Whatever," Javier answers, taking a step forward, right into Kevin's personal space. "We cool now? All good?"

"Yeah," Kevin answers, swallowing hard. "We're good."

Javier watches him for a second. "No, you still don't get it," he says, shaking his head, and his thumb brushes over Kevin's lips a second before his mouth follows.

They've kissed dozens, maybe even hundreds of times; this shouldn't feel new. But it does, it feels like a confession that he knows Javier isn't going to put into words, and that's okay, because he can feel it down to his very bones. When Javier pulls away it takes Kevin a couple seconds to blink open his eyes, still under some kind of spell.

"I get it," Kevin says, before he can stop himself. "You think I'm hot."

Javier's mouth twitches up in a grin, like he can't help it, and he looks away. "Yeah, something like that. Now, if you'll excuse me, hotass, I have to go put my gear away."

And, well, Kevin doesn't want him to walk away but his consolation prize is that he gets to check out Javier's ass, and all things considered, it's a pretty even trade.

"Hey, Javi," he calls, and Javier turns. "Carole. I get that it's a partner thing, but—if you ever wanted someone to come with you... well, that's a partner thing too. And I'm yours. That means I'm with you ‘til the wheels fall off."

Javier's silent for a long minute. "Thanks, bro. But I gotta do this on my own."

"It's not your mess to fix," Kevin pushes, and maybe that's the wrong thing to say, because Javier closes off just like that.

"It kind of is, actually. I'd say one day you'll understand, but I hope to god you never do."

*

The amount of guilt the team still carries surprises him until he really stops to think about it, thinks back to when he was just starting out as an EMT, to the first person who died on his guard—Alicia Wright, seventeen, who dared to step between her father's fist and her mother's body, who was holding on by a thread when the ambulance arrived—and, yeah, maybe he gets it.

*

Kevin's finally scrubbed himself clean of grime and he's _just_ about to turn off the shower, get dressed, and go home when suddenly Javier's right there, naked and wet and grinning like he's got some diabolical plan up the sleeve he is pointedly not wearing. Kevin's suspicions are confirmed when Javier pulls him into a long and dirty kiss that leaves him somewhat breathless (not that he's about to admit it).

"Wait—this is so, so dangerous," Kevin protests, and Esposito gives him a smirk so mischievous it makes his knees go weak. God damn, maybe he is a chick. It's a really good thing Castle and Beckett have already gone home, because it looks like they're fucking in the shower despite all his reservations.

"Don't worry, bro. I got you. Let me take care of this." Before Kevin can say anything, Esposito grabs his shoulder and spins him around, pressing him against the wall of the shower. For a split second Kevin thinks Espo's dropped them smack in the middle of some kinky-ass cop fantasy and he's about to get arrested (in a totally gay way, if you know what he means) but at second glance, apparently not.

"Dude, this is such a bad idea," Kevin says weakly. "Do you have any idea how many people get injured fucking in the shower?"

"Hmm?" Javier asks, too preoccupied with kissing every inch of Kevin's back.

"So many people, man. I should know, I was an EMT," he insists.

Javier drops to his knees and smacks Kevin on the ass, and Kevin makes a not-at-all girly noise of surprise. "Seriously, shut up. I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"Is that, ah—" Kevin's eyes fly open when Javier runs a finger down the crease of his ass, gently parting his cheeks. "Javi," Kevin whines, forcing his voice into a falsetto, "that's my danger zone."

And, well, Javier was teasing the skin around his hole with one finger, but at that he drops his hand and rocks backward on his heels, cracking up. Kevin turns his head, grinning. Javier's sitting bare-ass naked on the floor of the station shower, laughing his ass off. "Dude—" he gasps out, between fits of laughter—"you can't just _say_ things like that."

"Really? Because I think I just did." He's pretty fucking proud of himself, too.

Shaking his head, Javier grabs Kevin's ankles and pulls gently, tugging him away from the walls. "Just shut up and bend over," he instructs, and the lingering amusement in his voice turns something in Kevin's chest. But Kevin also knows better than to disobey a direct order, so he plants his legs apart and braces his forearms against the shower wall.

Javier gets back on track with impressive speed, rubbing and teasing Kevin's sensitive skin. Kevin lets it happen for a few seconds, then whispers, "Danger, Will Robinson, danger."

Javier just chuckles, replacing his finger with his tongue, and all thoughts of being a smartass fly first-class out of Kevin's brain. He forces back an embarrassingly girly noise and lets his head fall forward against his arms.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, unable to think about anything but the slick slide of Javi's tongue. "That's cheating."

If Javier wanted to let know Kevin that he wants him, he couldn't have picked a better way, because seriously? Sticking your tongue up someone's asshole is a pretty clear way of expressing the sentiment, ‘I accept you for everything you are, even the gross parts'. It's kind of sweet, actually, in a really roundabout way.

Not that he would ever, _ever_ say that to Javier because then he'd never do it again, and Kevin's quickly becoming addicted to the feeling.

Javier pulls back. "Stop thinking," he instructs, which is the most unreasonable thing he's ever said and it's up against some truly intense contenders. Because, Kevin? He thinks. That's what he does. Right now he's thinking about where, exactly, Javier's mouth is (tonguing wet, open kisses _thisclose_ to his asshole) and where it's about to be, and all the inherent health risks and it's the grossest, most terrifying thing he's thought about in ages.

Until it isn't—until his thoughts stutter to a halt on the swirl of Javier's tongue and get replaced be blind sensation. He can feel the bumps on Javier's tongue on broad licks, the muscles working as he points his tongue and fucks into Kevin with it, the wet slickness of his mouth as he sucks kisses into Kevin's skin. Water pounds down Kevin's back, mixing with Javier's spit until he feels sloppy-wet and open with need, just barely resisting pushing his body backward onto Javier's face. He'd bet every possession he owned that if Javier were to stand up grab Kevin's hips he could slide his dick in with no resistance from Kevin's body at all, and isn't _that_ an appealing thought.

Dimly he's aware he's saying something, begging really, so close to coming his filters have been shot all to hell. If he knew any state secrets he'd probably confess them in a heartbeat, let them tumble out amidst his half-desperate pleas and not even notice.

Orgasm hits him out of nowhere, knees buckling, and he loses his footing on the wet floor. For half a nanosecond he thinks _God damn you, Javier Esposito, I'm going to die because you didn't heed my warning_ —but true to his earlier promise, Javier's got his back, standing up fast like he'd been expecting the slip to happen and catching Kevin with a strong arm around his waist. Smooth as you like he turns off the shower with his other hand and leans in for a kiss.

"Wait," Kevin stops him. It sounds harsh, so he tries a grin. "Do you have any idea where your tongue just was?"

Javier rolls his eyes; how is it that his contempt is better than a thousand adoring fans? "In the shower? Making it as clean as it can possibly be without licking a bar of soap?—You know what, it's not even worth fighting you." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of the sinks. "I'm going to brush my teeth, and then you're going to give me a damn kiss, and then we're going to go back to my place and have a lot of sex. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Kevin breathes out, so stupidly in love there's probably hearts in his eyes.


End file.
